#aubrey gets the sweetest shit the place has to offer.

[maddogmp3]

i loove assigning characters a coffee shop order. its my favorite headcanon.

[thiswasinevitableid]

70 for sternclay, nsfw please :)

70: you’re planning my best friend’s wedding which we find out the day after you drunkenly hit on me at a bar and I reject you.

“God I hope this guy isn’t a jerk.” Dani plays with her hair as Aubrey fidgets with her phone.

“Hey, if he is, you’ve got me as back-up.” Barclay pats her shoulder reassuringly, “plus, like, you two are the brides. You’re the bosses of the wedding.”

“If we really were the bosses, we wouldn’t be working with a wedding planner in the first place.” Aubrey grumbles. 

There’s a knock on the door and Barclay stands, “I’ll get it, you two finish mentally bracing yourselves.”

He opens the door to find a tall, dark haired man with bright blues and a well-cut suit staring at him. Their expressions morph to shock and recognition at the same instant.

“Hi, hic, big guy, what’s your name?” The man’s blue eyes are noticeable even in the dim light of the bar. 

“Barclay.” He turns on his stool, giving the man a once over that he can’t help but notice. 

“You, hic, here, hic, with anyone?”

“Nope.”

“Want to, hic, be?” 

The man is clearly built under his v-neck t-shirt, and Barclay would dearly love to get a closer look at his ass. Trouble is, his ass is having a hard time staying balanced in that chair. 

“Sorry, blue eyes, not tonight.”

The man slinks away before Barclay can even ask if he wants him to call him a ride. 

“I’m looking for Aubrey Little’s residence?”

“You found it. She and Dani are in here.” He ushers blue-eyes inside, doesn’t envy him the look of suspicion he gets from both women. 

“Good afternoon, Ms. Little and Ms. Coulice, I’m Joseph Stern, and I’m here to help your wedding go off without a hitch.”

“Great. Let’s get this over with. Honey, can you go get the notes AH Dr. Harris Bonkers put that down!” Aubrey dives off the chair, grabbing a phone charger from the jaws of the ten pound white rabbit. 

As one bride opens up her laptop and the other re-cages a disgruntled small mammal, Stern turns to him.

“And, um, how do you know the brides to be?”

“Dani’s been my best friend since middle school, so I’m her man of honor and helping with the wedding planning.”

“I see. Oh, thank you Ms. Coulice.”

“Dani is fine.” Dani returns to her spot in the loveseat while Stern sits down in a nearby chair with her laptop. He reads for several moments without comment, Aubrey trading worried looks wh Barclay and Dani as he does. 

“Are these the specific venues you have in mind, or just examples of the type of location you’d like?”

“Mostly examples.” 

“Got it. Would you mind sending me these files? That way I can have them as reference when I’m looking into possible venues.”

“You’re not gonna, like, try to talk us into the Yacht Club or something?”

Stern looks at Aubrey with a warm, polite smile, “Ms. Little--Aubrey--, your father may have retained me, but my job is to make the wedding as close to what you want as possible. I’m not here to undermine you.”

“O-kay” Aubrey still sounds wary, but she and Dani relax as Stern goes over his planning approach with them and works out a tentative schedule of meetings. When he’s done, Barclay offers to walk him to the door. 

Just as he steps outside, he turns, “I, um, I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention our exchange last night to either of them. Or to Mr. Little. It’s not a habit of mine, I just had a bit too much, um, liquid courage.”

“You got it. Kinda feeling like I dodged a bullet myself.”

“Oh?” A dark eyebrow arches playfully. 

“Rather not sleep with the enemy.”

“Wh-did you miss the part where I said I was here to help them?” 

“Nope, but you and I both know it’s a lie. You’re here because Aubrey’s dad has a bug up his butt about this wedding causing a scandal or not being fancy enough or some bullshit, so he called you in to make sure it stays bland.” He sighs, “Look, Mr. Stern, I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but Dani is like a sister and Aubrey is one of my best friends; I’m here to make sure the wedding is actually what they want.”

Stern pinches the bridge of his nose, “is there anything I can to convince you I’m not trying to make them miserable?”

“Yeah. Quit.”

“Not a chance.” Is the immediate reply. 

“Well, there’s your answer then.” With that, he shuts the door. There’s a frustrated huff on the other side, and then footsteps fading away.

--------------------------------

Stern sighs, checks his appearance in the front window as he waits for Dani or Aubrey to open the door. He’s been working with them two weeks now, and while both women (and Dr Harris Bonkers) have warmed up to him some, Barclay remains polite but distant the times they’ve crossed paths. Lord almighty Stern can’t believe he almost slept with him. 

Yes, the man looks like his wet dreams made flesh and yes, Stern would like to ride him like a show-horse, but what a nightmare it would have made this whole assignment. Even if Barclay’s reasons insult him, he’s glad they’ve settled on keeping their distance.

Maybe this more casual look will help the other man see he’s not some stuffed suit out to ruin his friend’s wedding.

“Oh, you’re early.” Barclay opens the door with his usual pleasant but cool expression.

“No, I’m not. It’s three.” 

“Wait, shit really?” Barclay pulls out his phone as they walk inside, “damn, I must’ve lost track of time when I was cooking. Oh. Uh.” He looks at Stern, apologetic, “and I have a text from Aubrey saying she and Dani had a change of plans and won’t be here until seven.”

“That’s not great, but it’s workable. I can leave and come back.”

“Don’t you live kinda far--uh, huh, she says for us to just test out the menu together and leave her and Dani some for dinner.”

“I guess we can manage tha--why are there ingredients and pots everywhere?”

“Because...I’m…Cooking?” Barclay glances sideways at him. 

“What happened to the entire conversation about caterers? When did they change? What’s-”

“Hold on.” Barclay raises one hand, voice calm and deep, soothing over Stern’s rising worries like waves over hot skin, “think you’re mixed up; we’re trying out the food for the rehearsal dinner today. The one I’m cooking. Not the reception.”

“Oh thank the lord.” Stern slumps forward on the counter, “I thought I was about to have a whole day of calling disgruntled employees to tell them to nevermind about a quote.”

“Nope. Now have a seat, look like you’re gonna pass out on Dani’s floor. You want something to drink? We got water, beer, iced tea…”

“Water’s fine, thank you.” He tracks Barclay through the kitchen as he retrieves a glass from an upper cabinet, shirt riding up to show a patch of a dark, fuzzy belly that Stern instantly wants to feel pressed against him as it’s owner pins him to the nearest flat surface. 

Cooking seems to relax the other man enough that he actually chats with Stern, rather than keeping their conversation focused on the wedding. Stern learns he’s a personal chef and cookbook editor, though his original background was in baking. 

“Okay man, I gotta know” Barclay stirs something cardamom scented over the stove, “what’s with the shirt?”

“It’s from the radio station that first broadcast the story of the Michigan Dogman.”

“The what?”

“The Michigan Dogman, it’s a cryptid, um, nevermind” he curses himself for choosing casual clothes, “it’s niche and nerdy, you don’t want to hear about it.”

“Wrong, now you gotta tell me everything.” Barclay grins at him over his shoulder.

So he does, gradually at first in case Barclay regrets pushing this geekery button and needs to change the conversation, but the other man simply listens, really listens, as he cooks while Stern talks about his journey to the radio station and his talk with the DJ who accidentally started a legend. 

They keep talking as they eat, swapping travel stories and book recommendations, Barclay laughing when Stern shares some of the more ridiculous requests he’s gotten while working as a wedding planner. 

When Aubrey and Dani arrive home, they take one look at him and Barclay, stopped mid-anecdote and smiling at each other, and trade a surprised glance. 

All Stern can think is you and me both.

------------------------------------

The planning goes more smoothly after that night, Barclay beginning to trust Stern more and more. Stern also learns that he trusts Barclay’s judgement , and the other man is invaluable in helping him narrow down options to present to the brides, both of whom are overall pleased with his work.

He’s particularly proud of his find for the wedding venue. The Madonna Inn is perfect, brightly colored and fancy but still just a bit kitschy, like the locations Dani originally showed him. Both brides were overjoyed, which is why all four of them came down for the weekend to make preparations and start scoping out vendors for the food and flowers.  Dani and Aubrey went back up to the city Sunday night, but he and Barclay are staying at the inn the rest of the week, Stern in hopes of having everything scheduled and coordinated and Barclay there in case he needs a second set of eyes (he’s working on a new cookbook and his clients are traveling, so taking the week down the coast is no trouble). 

Today has been a work day, but Stern is taking tomorrow off basically because no one has time to meet with him. So after a late afternoon spent lounging on the beach, the two of them go out for a leisurely dinner. On a whim, Stern lets Barclay select and order his meal for him. He doesn’t mean for it to be flirtatious at first, he just trusts Barclay’s culinary instincts and is tired of making decisions. But one look at Barclay’s face, his widening pupils and sudden blush, tell Stern all he needs to know. 

“You gonna be good and eat whatever I give you?” Barclay murmurs, so low he’s almost inaudible under the clank of silverware and hum of conversation. 

“Of course.” Stern puts on his sweetest smile, shores up his defenses against the self-doubt curling up his spine. He’s not fast enough, and so orders another cocktail. 

Halfway through the meal, he notices Barclay watching him, and another piece clicks into place; the cook keeps eyeing his lips and throat as he eats, often shifts in his chair if Stern makes a delighted noise after a bite. When dessert comes, the accidental sounds are replaced by deliberate ones and he luxuriates as he eats his tiramisu, licking the fork to be sure not a drop of cream is wasted. 

Barclay asks for the check, and two more slices of cake to-go, without ever taking his eyes off of Stern. He’s feeling confident, and a bit wobbly, as Barclay drives them back to the Inn, taking the larger man’s hand and pulling him towards one of the beds before he can even get the lights on.

A large, gentle hand on his shoulder, “no can do, blue eyes.”

“But I, hic, we, hic-” the world goes sideways as Baclay unlinks their hands. 

“Go get some sleep, Joe.”

He changes while Barclay’s in the bathroom, huddles under the covers and faces the window so the other man can’t see him burning top to bottom with shame. 

Things get worse in the morning; he’s awoken by a phone call saying the florist has an open slot to meet with him in an hour and so he throws on the nearest nice clothes and dashes out the door. That meeting is followed by a phone call from Mr. Little who is none to pleased with the location choice and Stern spends forty-five minutes convincing him that the Inn is perfectly tasteful and also it’s what the brides want and that counts for a great deal wouldn’t you agree?

His nerves are firing full-strength when he gets back to the room. Barclay, freshly showered and clothed, looks up at him from the bed where he’s thumbing through Cooks Illustrated, reading glasses perched on his nose. 

“Rough morning?”

“ Yes.”

He shuts the magazine “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Do you wanna talk about last night?”

“Also no.”

“Well, I do.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. You simply aren’t interested in me that way and I’ve made an ass of myself twice by misreading the situation.”

“You’re wrong. You’re my type, blue eyes-”

“Clearly not, since-”

“-When you’re sober.” Barclay sits all the way up, “which is why I wanna know why you only flirt with me when you’re so drunk neither of us can try anything.”

“Because...because approaching people like that makes me nervous. I’m already under enough stress as it, running block for Aubrey and Dani against Mr. Little without getting myself fired, and the thought of trying to flirt, it’s, everything starts going wrong, it will all go wrong and-” the panic is back, his composure leaving him and taking whatever respect Barclay had for him with it. 

“Joe, breathe.”

“Breathing is not the issue here!” 

Barclay stands, face calm, and walks over to him. Instead of stepping in front of him, he circles behind, and a hand rests at the base of Stern’s neck.

“Let’s try that again. Inhale, blue eyes, a nice long one.” 

Stern complies, Barclay’s voice carrying no threats but leaving no room for protest. 

“Breathe out, count to four while you do.”

Stern exhales, nerves diverting energy from panic to desire, Barclays fingers on his skin and dominant baritone in his ear. 

“Good boy. Do it again.”

Stern takes another deep breath, then another, over and over as Barclay leads him to the bed and slips off his jacket, followed by his shoes and socks. 

“That’s it Joe, you’re doing so good.” He sits beside him on the bed, stroking his hair and Stern follows his touch, “what do you need? What helps when this happens?”

“Something to, to focus on, until I calm down. Just not work related or too complicated.”

“Hmmm” a thumb brushes over his lips, then down his chin, “I got a few things in mind, but they’re pretty damn dirty. Should we try something else?”

“No, please, I, I want that, want, want to be good for you like that.”

“Okay blue eyes, we can do that. You gotta promise me you’ll say ‘stop’ if something doesn’t feel good, okay?”

He nods, heart shaking his ribs, and Barclay leans and kisses him once, tenderly, before laying back on the bed, hands resting beneath his head.

“Get my dick out, yeah, there we go, good boy, I want you to use your mouth, can you, OH, ohhhhyeah.” His cock bumps Stern’s cheek as his hips tilt, a response to Stern lapping teasingly at the base. He drags his tongue all the way up the shaft, takes the head into his mouth, doing his damndest to lock eyes with Barclay the whole time. 

“Babe, fuck, that’s it, oh fuck you look good like that, knew you’d look good with my dick in your mouth, been thinking about it since that first night.”

Stern whimpers, hungry for more and pushes his head down. Having Barclay’s cock in his mouth forces him to keep his breathing measured, and so he savors it, senses filling with salt and skin and lingering hints of soap. 

“That’s it babe, nice and slow, we got all day. Long as I get to cum sometime before noon I’m happy.”

Stern rolls his tongue over the tip as he pulls off, switches to kisses and licks as he slowly jerks him off. Occasionally he skates up, nudging Barclay’s shirt with his nose--his hands uninterested in leaving his cock--so he can leave deep, longing kisses across his stomach and hips. Every movement elicits a groan or a sigh, every kiss and suck earns him praise. It’s only when his hands are slick with pre-cum and his own saliva that Barclay bucks his hips more intently, growling when Stern takes him back into his mouth. 

“Shit you’re good at this, not, fuck, not surprised, look like you would be, like all you need is for me to take care of you and you’ll open that fucking perfect mouth whenever I ask FUCK, oh you like that, don’t you babe? Fuck, shit, like the idea of taking what I give you?”

He whines, rubbing his thighs together as Barclay’s cock bumps the back of his mouth.

“You got three seconds to decide how you wanna take this.”

Stern locks eyes with him again, and dips down the barest bit more. Barclay’s hands tangle in his hair as he groans “good boy” and cums, bitter and warm, down Stern’s throat.

His hands flop onto the bed, allowing Stern to sit up. 

“Did...was I good?”

“So fucking good.” Barclay thwacks a hand dramatically onto his forehead to wipe it, “do you want to keep going? Or do you want to stop?”

“I want” Stern presses his hand against his cock, as if this will help rather than make him wetter, “please, can we keep going?”

“Yeah” Barclay sits up, kisses each cheek, “pants and underwear off, leave the shirt and tie.”

By the time Stern is appropriately undressed, Barclay is back on the bed with the to-go box and  a plastic fork. He reclines on the pillows, box on his upper chest, “come straddle me, knees about here” he pats the bed near his waist. Stern scoots up into position, Barclay licking his lips as he does. 

“Good boy. Now, you’re gonna show me how you get off, so I can know just what to do tonight to make you cry into the mattress.”

“Fuck.” Stern gasps, fingers already rapidly stroking his dick.

“Mmmm, look at how slick you are. Think that deserves a reward.” He spears a piece of cake, “open.”

Stern opens his mouth, leaning forward so Barclay can more easily feed him.

“You do like being spoiled. I can work with that.” Barclay rumbles, pleased, when Sterns fingers work frantically after a second bite. 

“Please, Barclay, I want to kiss you, please say I can kiss you.”

“Not until you finish.” 

“The, the cake or myself.”

“Yourself, blue eyes.”

He’s panting now, sweat soaking through his shirt, and slowing his hand and hips to take the bites Barclay offers. When he cums it doubles him over, and as he’s bracing his hands on the headboard, trying not to collapse on his partner, Barclay moves everything aside and cups his face, gently guiding him down to kiss him. They stay like that as Stern slowly explores his mouth, tastes leftover cake and laughs when a coppery beard scratches his neck. And when he begins to drop, breath shallow and fingers shaking, Barclay rolls them onto their sides, holds him close. Tells him over and over that he’s proud of him, that he did so well, that he’s right here and he’ll take care of him, give him whatever he wants. 

“Honestly, breakfast sounds better than anything else right now.” Stern mumbles against his chest. 

“I’ll order us some. You still need me to dom you, or are you ready to start calling the shots again?”

“I don’t call all the shots.” 

“Just most of ‘em. Don’t tell anyone, but I kinda like that about you. You’re good at what you do.” Barclay kisses his forehead. 

“I...I think I’d like to rinse off while you order breakfast.”

Barclay offers one more kiss before they roll out of bed, has Stern’s robe waiting for him when he gets out of the shower and brings him the room service tray as soon as it’s delivered. They lounge together on Stern’s bed, watching the Inn come to life as the afternoon draws near. From here, they can even see the spot where their friends will get married.

“The ceremony is gonna be perfect.”

“As perfect as I can manage, yes.”

“You got a date for it yet?”

“No.” 

“You want one?” Barclay smiles at him, the sunlight making him look as if he stepped out of a daydream and into Stern’s bed. 

“Depends; would that date be you?”

“Yep.” Barclay kisses his shoulder.

“Well then,” Stern grins, tips his chin up for a coffee-flavored kiss, “there’s your answer.’